Non-Lethal
"Gavin talked you into this, didn't he?" Simon eventually accused, after Zoey had taken a few practice swings. He watched her from his place slouched against a display case, arms crossed. From the moment he'd followed her in the gun shop's doors, he'd been pointedly silent, and making Zoey wonder if he was being broodier than normal on purpose, or if he was even aware when he did it. "He didn't talk me into anything. Maybe I just liked what he had to say.” Zoey retorted, flipping the rod end-for-end. The baton was a slender steel cylinder, telescoping to almost half a meter from a handle heavily wrapped in grounding rubber to the pair of prongs sported from its tip. She smiled when the grip smacked flat in her palm. “What do you care, anyway?” Simon fell in behind her at what Zoey'd come to know as complaining range as she spun her back to him and marched up the flourescent-lit aisle. “I don't, I just think it's stupid. If you’re gonna risk getting yourself killed hand to hand against some guy trying to rip your guts out, why do him the favor of not using something that'll do the same to him?” “Because maybe I won’t want to do the same to him.” Zoey said. She kept her eyes straight ahead to deter him from thinking she would listen, passing an eclectic collection of human and Covenant weapons on either side. Even in her peripheral vision, she could see the scratches and pockmarks a good buffing had failed to mask, marking them as flotsam of the bygone war, picked from its dead. For that matter, the wiry and hideously-scarred Sangheili lurking behind the counter looked much the same as his wares, but it didn't concern her much. The stocky assault rifles and advanced carbines weren't what she was after. The shop owner's mandibles hung open hungrily, his remaining slitted eye watching as the smaller of the two small humans approached and popped the stun baton up onto the counter along with a short stack of credit notes Gavin had included as part of her first paycheck. Without a word, the alien warrior began counting out her change, the little human with a non-lethal weapon not appearing to interest it in the least. In the war, Zoey thought, he'd probably been a warrior, but that was all different, now. Today he had a store to run. “You could shoot somebody in the leg just as easy.” Simon muttered, distinctly loud enough for hearing. So he was doing it on purpose. “You know what?” Zoey said, turning on him with a pulled-back smile just to show him he wouldn't change her mind, “I think you're probably happy about this. If I'm as dumb at this as you think, it means I'll only give you a jolt instead of killing you.” “Please,” the mercenary teen rolled his eyes, almost high enough to hide them in his shaggy, dark hair, “I don't think you could hurt me with anything in this store.” “I must assure you,” the gravelly voice of the Sangheili interjected, apparently paying attention after all, “though they've traveled far to come here, all my wares came from forges built for the preparation for battle. You'll find none of them wanting.” Simon hiked his brow. “Is that so?” “You guys both probably used guns just like this,” Zoey said, pointing around the room. “I believe him.” For a moment, Simon just stared at her curiously. Then, uncrossing his arms, he shrugged enough to be visible under the ratty poncho he'd draped over the plain clothes he wore for their little trip. “Fine. You know what? If you think you can really use that thing, I want to see it. So come on.” Zoey frowned. “Come on, what?” “One free shot.” He said, inviting her to step closer. “Hard as you can.” She almost told him to stop being stupid, when the sane part of her caught up to the situation. There were a dozen times they were stuck together on the Chancer during slipspace jumps when she'd wanted to do this very thing. Simon bowed, even closing his eyes. The moment his heightened ears picked up the baton whistling towards him, he'd catch it and show her just how much good it would do trying to hit someone ten times stronger and faster than a normal human. But it was too slow to come. Looking up, he saw Zoey not swinging the baton, but pointing its tip at his stomach. Instinct, faster than thought, brought his hand to his center to head it off, when he realized he didn't have his armored, insulated gauntlets on. “Hey, wait a—” SNAP. ---- “''I don't care, I just think it's stupid''.” Zoey mimicked, practically skipping as Simon groggily stumbled along behind her at recovering-from-unconsciousness range. “I meant how stupid you would be to try and hit someone with one of those things.” he griped, going slow to try and ease away the throbbing coming up into his temples. “Well, yeah,” Zoey said, spinning so she could walk backwards and gloat to his face. “I'm never going to kill anyone just by hitting them with anything, so the best I can hope for is something that does the job with just a touch. Looked like it worked to me.” Letting out a groan to go with the point she completely bypassed him trying to make, he asked, “How long did the Elite say this takes to wear off?” Zoey shrugged, eyeing the baton she was tipping back and forth like a metronome proudly. “The palm burning, a few hours. The headaches, couple days. The crippling embarrassment . . . kinda depends when I get tired of it, really.”